Clear vs. Clever: Will’s Third Lesson

For the first ten years of my communications career, I used the tools of language as smoke and mirrors to blind and misdirect you from my lack of confidence about a topic or a client. I was a clever fellow, I tell you. I made words dance. I made similes, like, sing. I made metaphors move.

I am so thankful my son set me straight.

Are you familiar with the concept of Literal Thinking?

For example, if I told you it was going to be raining cats and dogs today in Columbia, you’d bring an umbrella.

A person on the autism spectrum may very well hide under their bed – presuming the end was near.

“Cats and dogs falling from the sky??? Nooooooooo!!!”

Persons on the autism spectrum typically struggle – most notably in their early years – to connect with or understand abstractions, figures of speech and seemingly clever verbal attempts at humor – exaggeration, wit and sarcasm.

Though these skills can be developed and taught to varying degrees over time, they do not typically come naturally to persons with autism.

But, even as their skills grow, it can prove challenging and unusual (at least, for the rest of us). Consider what Rachel writes about literal thinking on her blog, Journeys with Autism:

In my mind, the literal meaning and the figurative meaning work together. In fact, it’s the combination of the two that makes wordplay so much fun.

Take, for example, the expression, “It’s raining cats and dogs.” When I asked my non-autistic husband what he saw in his mind when he heard this expression, he said, “Nothing. I just experience it as a metaphor for heavy rain.”

In contrast, when I hear the expression “It’s raining cats and dogs,” I literally see the word “cats” and the word “dogs” falling down like rain. I also see the literal rain — in fact, the words are falling with the rain and splashing into puddles — but I don’t see visual images of cats and dogs.

Learning this in our early days of parent training, I was heartbroken, of course.

How would my son ever know what a master I was at language???

Sheesh. I was so young and dumb. (That’s not a figure of speech. I’m being literal here.)

We had to begin to learn to change our behavior by first becoming aware of our behavior. Dee and I began to notice when we spoke in ways we needed to change.

It was quite an awakening.

(Even ‘awakening’ here is a figure of speech. It’s terribly difficult, but both my wife and I have come a long way in improving our ability to communicate clearly.)

I became immediately aware of how bloated – and even obnoxious – my ad copy had become. I had become so in love with my love of words that my words and ideas and sentences ran on for days – often without saying anything at all.

I also became aware – though a little more slowly – that my clever-but-bad copy was merely a symptom of a greater problem: I wasn’t digging deep enough to find the greater, clearer truth of why consumers should do business with my clients.

It had to stop. The world was changing.

The back button made us all lose our patience with long, flowery wordplay.

Gone were the days when people gave us minutes – even a few extra seconds – before moving onto something else.

Gone were the days when naive consumers looked upon advertisements with trust and amusement.

Ads were not to be trusted. Clever ads that really said nothing were to be trusted least of all.

I began to demand clarity from my clients. I demanded stories and examples and substantiations of their claims.

I demanded sources for statistics.

I began to learn to simply say the darned thing.

I began to look for and work only with clients who had something substantive – either in product or in their character and methods of doing business.

I began to dig deeper and uncover the stories that connected us simply and honestly.

The Ugly Side Of Clever?

You know what else had to go?

Sarcasm.

Did you ever notice how poorly sarcasm translates to the web? Have you ever seen someone resort to *highlighting* their *sarcasm* to make sure you don’t *miss it*.

Will doesn’t get sarcasm. But … he doesn’t really miss anything, does he?

And I’m ashamed to admit that sarcasm’s been a harder habit to break than smoking. I’m deep down embarrassed that it’s still a crutch on which I lean, but I’m working to toss it aside.

Because it’s stupid. And you’re better than that. And so am I.

Sarcasm, and its pretentious cousin snark, have no place in our world when there’s such important work to be done.

In places where ideas matter – and action necessitates clarity – we need to be able to move forward with confidence and vision.

Commentators, critics and trolls can move to the back of the bus … or better yet, get under it.

Those that matter – you, for example – need to make our thoughts known and understood.

We need to advance the discussion.

We need you to be your *best*.

No. Really. Your very best, please.

I hope I made myself clear.